


Man and Wife

by marchionessofblackadder



Series: A Crown of Roses [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the actual wedding ceremony, they find out that the veil can only be taken off on the wedding night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man and Wife

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to Repeatinglitanies!

It was true that she had often dreamed of adventure, of exploration and discovery. She wanted to climb mountains and swim in oceans, to taste desert winds and trip through jungles like how the heroes did in all of her favorite books. Had she ever considered the fact that marriage would be awash in that dream, she would have looked at her life differently. A wedding had simply been an expectation, before now, an inevitable outcome that she knew would happen before any kind of adventure she could reach. Now, standing in the misty white wedding gown in the middle of a dew sprinkled and heather dusted meadow, Belle supposed this wedding, this marriage was an adventure all on its own.

Friar Tuck read from a weathered tome of scripture that Belle was sure was older than everyone but Rumpelstiltskin himself, and she sneaked a peek around the edge of her wedding veil at the groom. He was standing by her side, straight as an arrow and his profile all but hidden by his oiled curls, save for his nose. His hands were crossed in front of him, and Belle wondered if he was even breathing.

For a moment, when he’d finally seen her, shifting nervously from foot to foot and wrestling up a small smile for him, she had thought…he had stepped close to take her hand, and brushed his lips over her knuckles, looking three shades paler than normal and never speaking above a whisper. If she didn’t know better, he was afraid of her, but that couldn’t be true. Now he was more reserved and stoic than ever, and her heart sank with the words the good friar recited. She had hoped for a little happiness, a little of the gentleness she’d been given in his tower to come back to them.

Robin Hood and his men were standing silently behind them, watching with both hesitancy and fascination at the proceedings. When Belle repeated the words, not so much hearing what she said as focusing on Rumpelstiltskin’s own reaction, her voice trembled against her will, binding herself in mind and heart and body to the Dark One. She felt him shift beside her, heard his slow intake of breath.

His own words were nearly muted in his quietness, and had Belle not been listening closely, or watching out of the corner of her eye to see his breath turn smoky in the cold air, she wouldn’t have thought he’d said anything at all. Some traditional weddings called for wine to be drunk from a goblet shared between bride and groom, while others still bid them exchange rings. Belle was reassured when none of those rituals were included in their quaint ceremony, for she was feeling too detached and unsure of herself and where she stood in Rumpelstiltskin’s opinion to feel gracious enough to accept anything from him.

But it did call for a kiss, and the friar’s eyes flickered to Belle’s face just before she turned to look at the sorcerer, wondering what he would do. The Dark One hesitated only for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard the call to kiss his wife correctly, his eyes evading her-looking at the ground, the sky, the forest-before he leaned down and gently brushed his lips to her cheek, which warmed immediately with her blush.

Robin Hood and his men clapped in, not mocking but rather polite applause that made Belle’s heart lighten. What had been a cross and unpleasant run-in with the bandits turned into something quiet, respectful, and tender.

Belle reached forward, past the hem of her veil to slide her fingers into Rumpelstiltskin’s, and it seemed to startle him out of some deep train of thought. He looked at her with wide, queer eyes, and his face softened when she offered him a gentle smile.

“A moment alone with my wife,” he said, barely stumbling over the last word, his voice rough with something that warmed Belle through, despite the chill of the meadow. The friar tucked his tome beneath his arm and sidestepped them to dismiss the bandits back to the road, leaving Belle and her husband enclosed in pine and heather and light mist. He was still staring at her after she watched them leave.

“Thank you,” Belle smiled, squeezing his fingers delicately.

Narrowing his eyes, Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head and asked, “For what?”

“For saving me from my own foolishness.” It had been foolish to touch something that wasn’t hers, to place the laurel of golden roses and silk upon her hair and pretend. That he could suffer such nonsense from her was a forgiveness; to save her from it was a kindness she hadn’t known he’d possessed, and her smile grew at his widening eyes and shy look. “Even if…I am your wife only by name, I won’t…that is, I will try not to disappoint you.”

“Oh, Belle.” He gathered both of her hands between his, and she didn’t realize until then how cold she did feel. Her neck, shoulders, and arms were bare, and her face was pink with the frigid air, but when he touched her so sweetly, it hardly mattered. He stared at their hands, at the rough, discolored scales against the lily whiteness of her own skin, and he looked up at her, shaking his head once and whispered, “It was not foolishness, and I’m sorry for ever letting you…think it. Under the circumstances,” his mouth twisted in a wry if sad smile, and he raised a finger to trail over her cheek. “Marrying you was my pleasure.”

Biting her lip and ducking her chin to hide her inexplicable giddiness, Belle blushed and smiled before looking back up with a gentle sigh, asking, “Can you take the veil off, now?”

Wordlessly, he released both her hands and his fingers carefully slid into her hair beneath the laurel. When he pulled back, something sharp stitched against her scalp, and she cried out in pain, her eyes flying open in time to see Rumpelstiltskin startle away from her like she’d bitten him. Belle’s heart lurched painfully in her chest, and she stared at him, wide-eyed in her alarm.

“Why won’t it come off?” she whispered, reaching up to touch the crown. It was hot, like a fire burned beneath the gold, and Rumpelstiltskin watched her as she tried to take it off herself. It was like a snare, though, and the harder she tried to remove it, the heavier it weighed upon her brow. She looked up at him in a panic, breathless. “Rumpelstiltskin, why won’t it come off?”

He licked his lips, hands tightening at his sides before stepping up to her. He lowered her hands away and tilted her head down with a tender touch, doing no more than looking at the veil that was causing her head to begin aching. She didn’t realize until she let her forehead rest against his chest that his arms had come to wrap around her at some point, and he was holding her and rubbing her back.

The marriage had been binding-they’d done everything required of them. It was not under pretense nor a jilted ceremony, and the more Belle tried to puzzle it out, the more it hurt to think about it. What if it couldn’t be removed at all? What if it really was cursed?

When Rumpelstiltskin spoke, his voice was quiet, just above a whisper. “Belle?”

Muffled against his chest where his brocade waistcoat buttoned over his silk shirt beneath, she made a noise of acknowledgement, suddenly too weary to answer him properly.

“Does it…hurt you?”

It did. In fact, it was hurting her head the longer they stood there, shrouded in mist and heather, and Belle wondered when it had started. It was a spiky headache at the crown of her brow, and it was slowly creeping down to her neck. “Yes,” she finally murmured, lifting her hands to curl against his waistcoat. She inhaled deeply, hoping to clear the gathering tears from her eyes, and the scent of him-autumn leaves, ink and parchment, woodsmoke and soil after a thunderstorm-helped.

If it was possible, he grew even more still beneath her cheek, his hands flat on her back beneath her shoulders. His breath was cinnamon and warm against her hair, and he said, “I know how to remove it.”

Looking up, eyes bright with hope, Belle couldn’t contain her smile, but the pure unhappiness on Rumpelstiltskin’s face tempered her zeal to concern as he finally looked her in the eye. “How?”

“It’s not enough, to swear fidelity and honor our words,” Rumpelstiltskin began, slowly, lifting his hands to cover her own upon his chest. He squeezed her fingers and watched her with tenderness. “Because a normal marriage doesn’t end there, Belle. Do you understand?”

Watching the dark gold of his spinning wheel brooch at his throat, Belle considered his words. A normal marriage-what did that even mean? Between a husband and a wife, she supposed, normal married people kissed and loved and spent their-

 _Oh_.

Her lips drew together, and her realization must have shown on her face because Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes and leaned his forehead down to press against hers.

Well! It wasn’t ideal, to be sure, but her feelings for him didn’t make her unwilling. Quite to the contrary, she cared for him a great deal. They enjoyed one another, and even if there was not love between them, surely fondness and affection counted? Their bed need not be miserable or cold, and she would not receive him with disgust. If she was honest with herself, she felt more assurance, more safety, and more trust in giving herself to Rumpelstiltskin than she ever had to Gaston, or any courtier lined up to marry her. She knew, in this as with anything else, that he would treat her with respect. There were many women who were not so lucky as that.

“But why are you so sad?” Belle whispered, sliding one hand from beneath his to cup his cheek. She tilted her face up so their noses touched, and when he opened his eyes, they were wide, dark, and full of fear.

“I never wanted this for you,” he sighed raggedly, squeezing her hand and leaning his cheek into her other. Belle wondered if he realized he was thinking out loud-she could tell, from his softened voice and the open, raw emotion of his words. “Everything has changed now. You were meant to return home, to never see me again. Now you are more a prisoner than ever, bound by time and a cruel little trick.”

Her breath was stolen by his words, and her hand fell from his face limply to her side. He raised his head to stare at her, wounded and weary, and if he apologized, she knew she would crumble.

“Return home?” Belle whispered, her eyes filling with tears both from the growing pain in her head and the tightness in her throat. “You were going-going to let me go?”

“Of course I was,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered, raising her hand from his chest to his lips and pressing a kiss to her palm. He shook his head, sniffling, but he had no tears. Or perhaps he did, and hid them better than she ever could. A broken laugh trembled in his chest, and he murmured, “It was not for lack of wanting you. I wanted you too much,” his eyes flickered up to hers, scared and tired, and he looked away quickly. “The things in my life that I want, I always lose. At least if I let you go, I would have the chance to say goodbye.”

“But-” Belle’s tears were blinding her, and the thickness in her throat, the wetness of her nose, everything was brimming at the surface, and she squeezed his hands so tightly she felt her nails digging into the scaly skin. Her voice was miserable, a whimper that she couldn’t tame against the painful knot above her heart. “But Rumpelstiltskin, _I don’t want to go_.”

“And now you can’t, even if you wanted to, because you’re shackled to this,” Rumpelstiltskin half snarled at himself, his voice full of poison and disdain. He turned his eyes, angry and hurt upon her, and his hands dropped to hold her arms and pull her close, his words cutting through his teeth. “Do you know why it’s hurting you, Belle? Do you have any idea?”

Belle opened her mouth, unnerved by his sudden change of mood, but no words came out. He squeezed her arms and pulled her closer, muttering in a low, gravelly voice, “Because it’s killing you.”

“W-What?” Her breath came out in a gentle huff, her bodice suddenly feeling too tight as she arched her back to look up at him, standing too close to see his face properly otherwise. Everything felt like it was overflowing-her mind, her heart, and now her very spirit were leaking from her eyes and in gusty bouts of air whenever her chest didn’t threaten to crack open from her sobs that she held tight against her spine. They made her feel stronger kept there.

“Our vows were the turn the spell needed to bind us,” Rumpelstiltskin whispered spitefully, glaring at the veil above her face. He wanted to rip it off, perhaps destroy it, but he would hurt her and she knew that it was the only thing that stopped him from doing so. “Now, it waits for us to feed the magic. And while it waits, it’s going to feed off of you. That’s why it hurts, eh? It’s getting heavier, and soon it’s going to be too much for you to even walk.”

“You’re frightening me,” Belle whispered, her voice nothing but a tremble of sound.

It was enough to make him let go, to take a step away from her, blanching at his own hands. He stared for a long moment, before folding his fingers up and looking back at her, more weary than before. He shook his head, muttering, “No bride should be forced to choose between this-” he jerked his hand at himself. “Or an early grave. But that’s what magic does-it takes and destroys, if you let it,” he turned away, rubbing his mouth, muttering something she couldn’t hear.

It didn’t matter what he said, though. Her mind had been made up, and nothing he said could deter her. It was obvious he wasn’t listening, or perhaps wasn’t paying attention, so Belle took a deep breath, steadying herself, and said, “Rumpelstiltskin, I’m not unwilling, and I’m not-” She balled her hands into fists, boring holes into the back of his dragonhide and wishing he would turn to look at her. “-and I’m not doing these things to simply get out of the mess I’ve made. I choose this. I chose it when I chose you.”

“No one would choose this,” Rumpelstiltskin snarled, turning back to her, but instead of shying away this time, she grabbed his hands and pulled him close, staring him down.

“I did,” Belle said clearly, confidently, and drew herself up when his face went a shade lighter, when his eyes rounded in the face of her assurance. She narrowed her eyes. “How dare you pity me or how I choose to live my life. The day I was able to make my own choices-the day I made my choice to go with you, to save my people-was the day I began to truly live, and I will continue to do so be it as your maid, your wife, your silver-polisher and duster, and your bedmate-and should you ever pity me again, well-” Belle blinked, a smile flickering around the corners of her mouth even against her aching head. “-well I may be forced to become a nag.”

The simple, blunt statement had Rumpelstiltskin blinking in alarm, and her smile seemed to confuse him all the more. In turn, his wariness of her sudden and passionate speech made a giggle burst from her lips even as her tears weren’t dry upon her cheeks, and his forehead creased above a tired smile. He closed his eyes against her laughter. Stepping closer once more, Belle cupped his face and turned it down to look at her, and she shook her head softly, whispering, “It’s forever, Rumpelstiltskin. And if you’re willing, I would very much like to begin it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he murmured, a gentle smile playing about his lips as she petted his hair beside his cheek. Her smile melted into something gentler, and he leaned down, close enough for her to taste his breath, noses touching and lashes tickling her cheeks, but before their lips met, Rumpelstiltskin jerked back, eyes narrowed to slits.

“What’s wrong?” Belle asked, blinking heavily from the warmth she was feeling along her neck and cheeks.

“Someone’s calling for me,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered, his hands sliding up to cradle her arms. His eyes suddenly danced, turning upon Belle in a way that made her wary. Whatever he was about to say or do, she knew it was going to be complicated. “It seems someone is knocking upon our door, my lady. Someone in desperate need of my services.”

Belle frowned. “I’m in need of your ser-” She stopped suddenly, horror filling her face at the absurdly inappropriate spin of the words, and Rumpelstiltskin’s own face alighted with glee, clapping his hands. “I didn’t mean that!”

“But you did,” the imp countered, waggling a saucy eyebrow at her.

“Just-” Belle caught both his hands and heaved a sigh, looking up at him. “Just…do whatever you have to do to take us home,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder. “As quickly as possible.”

Rumpelstiltskin cupped the back of her head with a tender touch, wrapping his other arm around her waist to cradle her against his body. The security and warmth she felt was comforting, and she smiled at the kiss he pressed to her curls. “Heavens forbid you become a nag,” he murmured, causing her laughter just before both man and wife disappeared from the meadow.


End file.
